#mummyholmesisupset

[nifeandaccurate]

mummyholmesisupset replied to your post “i wore jeans instead of sweatpants and my roommate saw me on campus,...”

Hey at least your bro didn't imply that your stomach was gross and then say that it was okay bc it was 'in progress'

oh man that sucks, i’m sorry that happened to you :( 

[iwritesnortsintragedies]

Today in my inbox

sarahsyna: What're you up to?

terresdebrume: Telling my friend Lisa about the ridiculous sex/sexy bits related slang words and expressions we have in French

sarahsyna: Well, I am scandalised

[iwritesnortsintragedies]

Mange ma baguette, ma petite fille. *le wink wonk*

oh my god Lisa you sound like a creepy old dude trying to freak girls out in the metro

[iwritesnortsintragedies]

mummyholmesisupset replied to your post:F, A, Z, I, L, T

Sorry sorry I was having the WORST day yesterday. I meant to insert the frostiron fic title sos…

*hugs* aaah it’s totally okay, don’t worry :D I hope today was/is better though because otherwise it‘s just not cool ><”

So S.O.S Ecrits Avec De L’Air! The title is taken from the song Tous les cris les S.O.S by Daniel Balavoine which is about someone who’s kind of just drowning under their bad feelings and try to send distress signals without much result.

SOS écrits avec de l’air, translated literally, means sos written with air and since this fic originally started out as Tony’s suicide letter which he threw out without hope of it being read (the way you throw a bottle in the sea without knowing where it’ll go) I figured it was fitting :)

(Also, the song resonated a lot with 2012 me, too, so that helped :P)

[iwritesnortsintragedies]

F, A, Z, I, L, T

F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?

...I’m actually drawing a blank on that one? I don’t read much fic that is strictly hurt/comfort actually, I’m more of a domestic fluff person, it seems?

A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

You didn’t insert a title!  :P

Z: Major character death--do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can't tolerate?

I have two fics that end up with major character death (well, a fic and a series). Both of them have been on improvised hiatus for years--if that answers the question :P

(Wait, no. I have one SPN one shot that ends with Sam and Dean dying, but it’s fairly euphemised xD)

As for reading it no, not really. I've read one of them that I can remember, otherwise I just avoid them most of the time. I’d read one if Geli wrote it, maybe, but that’s not even a guarantee.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

...We’re gonna have the tentacle porn conversation again, aren’t we?

L: What's the weirdest AU you've ever come up with?

Eh. One time I toyed with the idea of Sam & Dean from SPN landing in Middle Earth. That was fun. What I write is usually fairly tame, though, I’m afraid :P

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

Mmh. Given that torture porn and gratuitous rape aren’t, strictly speaking, fandom tropes, I’d say not really? There are pairings I don’t want to read, and some tropes I’m okay with in some fandoms and not so okay with in others but on the whole I can’t think of a trope that’s an absolute no-go for me tbh.

Send me a letter fo fic-writing asks?

[iwritesnortsintragedies]

caloub replied to your post “Remember that saying/joke where Hell is administered by the French?...”

*pat pat* the beauty of it is how expensive this whole inefficiency is and what it costs us.

I know, I know ;_;

Though for now I’m more on the tedious side of things so I guess it will could be worse ><

mummyholmesisupset replied to your post “Remember that saying/joke where Hell is administered by the French?...”

bon courage. that sucks, dude.

Thankies <3

I have to say I appreciate this rise of solidarity against the system administration :P

grand-duc replied to your post “Remember that saying/joke where Hell is administered by the French?...”

bon courage

Merci :)

[pig-wings]

Spacedogs: running into your ex and showing off what you look like when someone actually cars about you

It took him a moment to place his finger on where he knew her from. It wasn’t until she opened her mouth—“Hey, Nigel.”—that realization clicked like lock tumblers in his head, and his laugh—he couldn’t remember what Adam had said, but it had been blunt, to the point, entirely true and entirely inappropriate—dissolved into a toothy grin, then disintegrated into a tight-lipped frown.

“Hey, Laura.”

Laura. God, it had been months, he thought, his memories coiling unpleasantly in his head. She had been a nice girl at first, a bartender at one of the nightclubs in New York. They had met when Nigel had found the place by accident, and they had gotten to know each other when she had cut off his drinks. “That’s enough, killer. Chat with me instead.”

She had been a few dates born out of desperation, nights together born from loneliness. He imagined he was no different for her. They could smell it on each other, though neither of them commented on it. It was better if they enjoyed their smokes together in silence rather than picking each other apart. That lasted for a few weeks; they could enjoy the silence, enjoy the sex and movies and Chinese take-out. Then the barbs came, swift and stinging. Stupid things borne by miscommunication, by expectations.

It climaxed one night when he called her up, a little drunk, a little lonely, and he asked if she was free; he had known she had the night off, it was Wednesday. It had been, admittedly, late, and he had been surprised when she had picked up her phone. Her voice had sounded sleepy and scratchy, sugar-sweet smooth—she sounded, he had realized, like she did after a good romp in bed.

“Hello?”

“Laura. Hey. You free?”

“Nigel, it’s late—“

And then, in the background, like grating static—“Who the fuck is calling you this late?” It had been a man’s voice, sleepy, sticky with drowsiness. Something cold shivered through Nigel’s spine.

He had wanted to say something, but the alcohol had made his tongue stick. So when a beat of silence passed between them, she’d repeated: “It’s late.”

And it was. And so he had hung up the phone after a mumbled goodbye. And so he had gone to the bar the next night she was working, and she had cast him a strange look, offered him a strange smile.

“What was that about the other night?”

“When you called?” she had replied, setting the glass she was polishing down. She didn’t look particularly bothered.

“Uh-huh. There was a guy there.”

“Yeah,” she had said, a strange look crossing her face. “Nigel, we’re not like…steady, you know?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We’re not dating. We’re just having a good time.”

A good time. A good time. A good time. That’s all it was, a really good time, a great time, a grand time. Something hot had crept along the floor of Nigel’s skull like a pot of boiling water had been spilled. It had spread out, reached its fingers towards the flesh of his brain, filled his head with red-hot irritation.

He didn’t think before the next words left his mouth.

“Do you just take home every guy you meet then, huh?”

He had left the bar in the grip of a bouncer. He had left the bar with a black eye.

Looking at her now, the entire event felt a little distant, especially now that he had Adam clinging to one of his gloved hands. He couldn’t deny that the night had burned him badly, though part of him knew she was right, that they weren’t really anything but sweaty Friday nights. The grand and melancholy side of him denied that though, and enjoyed to play the part of the wounded lover. That griping half of him won most nights, and he had wallowed for weeks. He couldn’t deny though that what he said had been cruel, venomous, even though that very night he had said worse things in his head as he had iced his swollen face. Now though, the words felt a little wrong. He thought about saying something so nasty to Adam, and the mere idea made his stomach flip.

“Nigel, who’s this?” The younger man was tugging at his hand now, tilting his face up to question.

“Oh—Adam, this is my friend, Laura. Laura, this is my boyfriend, Adam.” He drew out the “boyfriend”. He didn’t know why. It didn’t matter, really.

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled, and that curious little look crossed her face again. She looked from Nigel, thin-lipped and stern, and then to Adam, who bounced a little as they stood. “It’s a nice day for a walk.”

“Yeah, it really is.” Nigel drew his lower lip into his mouth, unsure how to continue. “How’s uh, how’s uh—what’s his name?”

“Matt. He’s good. We’re thinking about moving in together. He just got a raise at work.”

“Good. I’m really glad, Laura. I’m happy for you.”

“Congratulations,” Adam chirped. “Nigel and I moved in together last month. He still leaves his towels on the floor.”

Laura laughed at that. “Yeah, he does.” A beat of silence fell over them.

“We’re going to be late to the show, Nigel.” Adam said, tugging a little on his hands again.

“Yeah, we’d better get going, shouldn’t we?”

“There’s a special showing of Cosmos at the theater tonight,” Adam said to Laura. “You should bring Matt and come too.”

Laura smiled, her eyes roving over to meet Nigel’s. “Maybe. Listen, I don’t want to hold you up, but—I’m happy for you two. Have fun at your movie.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He thought of how he and Adam must look; Nigel always worried that they made a strange pair, the sort of pair that people might whisper about, might point fingers at. Now, looking at Laura’s sweet smile, bright eyes, he realized that they simply looked happy. What a strange encounter, he thought. Felt a little saccharine-sweet, like powdered sugar on his fingers after he scarfed down the fasnachts from the corner bakery. Before he walked away he cracked a smile of his own, holding Adam’s hand tighter in his own. “Hey, I’m really glad things are working out with Matt. Let me know if you find a place together.”

And so the parted ways as amicable ex’s do, strange tastes on their tongues, the flavor of lost opportunity. They tasted each other’s happiness, though it felt a bit stale, and they thought of what-if’s and aborted futures, lost happiness that they weren’t sure ever existed, weren’t sure was meant to exist.

They thought of happiness now, and Nigel squeezed his joy into Adam’s mitten, let it leak up to his lips. “Let me kiss you,” he laughed, stopping Adam and turning to face him.

“Okay.”

Nigel bent down to capture Adam’s lips in his own and warmth spread in his body, cozy as wine in his belly, cozy as mittens, cozy as nights at home, Adam’s head in his lap, Adam’s head in the stars.

[bobbyonboard]

tagged by the lovely @rootingformephistopheles

- If I were a month, I’d be: December

- If I were a day of the week, I’d be: Friday

- If I were a god/goddess, I’d be:  Athena

- If I were a sea animal, I’d be a(n): sea lion

- If I were a piece of of furniture, I’d be:  record player

- If I were a gemstone, I’d be a a(n): sapphire

- If I were a kind of weather, I’d be:  blue skies with a crisp wind

- If I were a color, I’d be:  peach

- If I were a sound, I’d be: a sigh

- If I were an element, I’d be: water

- If I were a place, I’d be:  New York City

- If I were a taste, I’d be: sugar cookies

- If I were an object, I’d be: microphone

- If I were a body part, I’d be: a heart

- If I were a song, I’d be: She Used to Be Mine by Sara Bareilles

- If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be: pumps

tagging! @moratoriu-m @mummyholmesisupset @someunprofessionalblogger @yourdeadgirlwalking @mugglegirlathogwarts @the-end-sincerely-me